


Champagne and Sympathy

by MDJensen



Series: Me and Captain America [3]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hugs, So Much Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 02:31:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16467002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MDJensen/pseuds/MDJensen
Summary: After solving the case of his life, Jerry just needs someone to talk to. Steve and Danny give him two someones. Post 9x05.





	Champagne and Sympathy

The first thing that comes to Steve’s mind as Jerry opens the door is this: either he hasn’t slept or he’s done nothing but sleep. Funny how those look pretty much the same.

“Hey?” Jerry says, not bothering to hide the little rise in pitch that makes it half a question.

Danny answers by waving the champagne. “Eric filled us in, buddy,” he says, pushing past Jerry into his apartment. “You just literally solved the case of your life. We came to congratulate you.”

“Hey, Jer,” Steve says, clapping him on the shoulder. Jerry gestures him inside and only now, that he’s been given permission, does he enter.

Jerry closes the door behind them, then steps closer. His hair is fluffy without the typical product in it, and his eyes are heavy and a little bloodshot. He’s barefoot, in a baja hoodie and pajama pants. It occurs to Steve, not for the first time, that they probably should have texted a heads up. But it’s been a whirlwind and they just—didn’t.

Danny’s leading the way, letting himself deeper into Jerry’s apartment; Steve lingers a moment, looking around. For all that Jerry’s office is kind of cramped, dark, his apartment is actually quite pleasant. It’s tidy, painted in pale colors that feel airy in even the last rays of sunset.

Steve catches up to find Jerry and Danny in the living room, on the couch. He settles himself in the armchair just as Danny plucks a framed 4x6 from the coffee table.

“This your, uh. Your crew?” Danny sees what Steve has: that the picture typically resides elsewhere, meaning Jerry’s taken it over to the couch to look at it today.

“Huh?” Jerry replies, shaking himself. “Oh, yeah. That’s, um. Me, obviously, right there. That’s Crystal. That’s Gordie on the left there, and Ano on the right.”

“Wow. Congratulations on, um, following the prototype for every Stephen King novel ever.”

Jerry snorts. Danny passes Steve the photo for his examination; at its center he recognizes a preteen Jerry, surrounded by three kids of the same age. Their yellow t-shirts match; so do their mischievous smiles.

And yeah, that’s totally a group of misfit friends that Steve could picture on the big screen, befriending an alien or defeating a demon clown.

Or trying to find a body in the woods.

Steve hands the picture back, forcing a smile.

Danny takes it; looks at it some more, then groans. “I’m realizing something. It’s all making sense.”

“What?”

“You were a camp kid, weren’t you?”

“What’s a camp kid?” Steve asks, but Jerry’s already laughing.

“Oh my god!”

“What’s a camp kid?”

“You know.” Danny waves broadly. “Those kids—those kids who went to the same fucking camp every summer from the time they could walk. And all us normal kids, our main social circle was our school friends or our neighborhood friends, right? But camp kids—their main friends were their _camp friends_.”

“Why is that a bad thing?” Steve asks.

“I guess it’s not really? But my one set of cousins, they were camp kids, and I dunno—they were just kinda weird.”

Jerry flops against the couch. “So I’m guilty by association with your weird cousins?”

“Yes!”

“Hey, man, school wasn’t the easiest place for me. I dunno why it was easier to make friends at Hina, but it was. Plus you know, that means I’ve been friends with my oldest friends for almost forty years. How’s that a bad thing?”

“Fine. Gah! Camp kids. Can you get some glasses, please?”

Jerry grunts as he gets to his feet and disappears, giving Steve time to eye Danny and try to figure out if he was being strategically distracting or just—himself.

Steve comes to no conclusions.

“I don’t own champagne flutes,” Jerry says, a little breathlessly, as he returns. His fingers are wrapped around the handles of three mismatched mugs.

“Or wine glasses?” Danny prompts.

“Oh yeah. Guess those would’ve been a more logical second choice.”

“Mugs are fine,” Steve replies, standing and taking one. It’s painted like that blue thing from _Doctor Who_ —Steve’s pretty sure he’s got that right—and there’s a chip out of the rim.

Danny and Jerry stand too. They juggle items until Danny’s holding the other mugs and Jerry the bottle of champagne. He peels the foil and drops it to the floor.

“These things always kind of intimidate me,” Jerry admits, toying with the wire around the cork; not for the first time, Steve gets the impression that this week has left him more dazed than anything else.

“Want me to do it?” Steve offers, but Jerry shakes his head. Hesitates one moment longer, then forces the cork open with a loud pop and a spurt of liquid onto the floor. Danny holds the mugs out. But Jerry doesn’t move; just stares at the bottle as foam tracks down the sides.

“I, uh—can you? I think I’d spill it.”

He and Danny switch again. Steve doesn’t mean to watch Jerry’s hands but he does anyway and, yeah, they’re far from steady. The mugs he’s holding bob as though in a breeze.

Danny finishes pouring into those two, then turns and gets Steve’s; then he puts the bottle on the floor and raises his mug to chest height.

“Jerry,” he begins. “In all honesty I’m usually the first person to, uh, question you, shall we say. I guess you’re used to that. But it doesn’t stop you. And yesterday, because you didn’t let it stop you, you solved a murder that’s been cold for more than three goddamn decades. You put a killer behind bars, and you brought justice to a girl who never would have gotten it otherwise. I am— impressed. And proud. We all are. Here’s to you.”

“To Jerry,” Steve agrees, raising his mug; Jerry clinks his to both others.

“To Susanna,” he murmurs, and they all drink. Then, by some unspoken agreement, they all flop back to their respective cushions and sit for a while in tired, companionable silence.

Steve’s mug is empty, stomach warm with the wine before anyone speaks again.

“More?” Danny offers. He’s talking to Jerry, and waves the bottle temptingly when Jerry shakes his head. “Sure? It’s your champagne.”

“And you guys are genuinely awesome for bringing it over. But I’m, um.”

“You okay, babe?” Danny’s eyes soften as he puts the bottle aside.

“This is gonna sound, like, extremely pathetic? But I’m kinda nauseous? I’m, like. Genuinely worked up. I have been all day.”

“You wanna talk about it?” Steve offers. He has the brief thought that he should get up and go sit on Jerry’s other side, but that feels too much like boxing him in.

Jerry frowns, shrugs, the whole reaction entirely noncommittal. “Just,” he gasps, and Danny takes the mug out of his hands before it can spill. “Thirty-six years. _Thirty-six years_. And it’s over in less than forty-eight hours. I just think I have—emotional whiplash, or something. Thirty-six _years_.” He huffs a laugh. “Man. You guys ever forget how old we are?”

“I hear you, buddy,” Steve agrees, at the same time that Danny groans, “are you kidding me? My knee reminds me first thing every morning.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Please. You hurt your knee when you were, like, sixteen.” Danny waves him away like one would an insect.

“So you have actually gone back to dig _every year_ since?”

“Yeah. I mean, the next few years I was there for the summer, anyway.”

Danny cackles. “Jerry, what the—that is maximum camp kid shit. You witnessed a murder and you _went back anyway_?”

“Yeah. I made junior counselor next summer.”

“Of course you did.”

“Could’ve been head counselor someday if I didn’t have to give it up to be in band in high school.” Suddenly he sours a little. “Wonder if I had, if I would’ve figured it out sooner. About Blaine.”

“Hey.” Steve leans forward a little. “You figured it out, man.”

“Almost got Gordie killed in the process.”

“Number one, give yourself a break, please.” And yeah, Danny would probably call it ironic that Steve’s the one saying that, but it’s still good advice. “Number two, that _almost_? That’s an important word.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“You figured it out. Nobody else would have. Thirty-six years, you kept at it.”

“I dunno about you,” Danny puts in, nodding at Steve, “but I feel kinda stupid for never realizing you did this every year.”

“Yeah, it—I dunno. It wasn’t a private thing, obviously, but—it kinda was?”

“I gotta admit, man, when you took those personal days—I assumed it was for the holiday.”

Jerry snorts. “Okay, to be clear: taking off for Halloween is absolutely something I would do. But no. I usually—we usually go at the beginning of October. Near Susanna’s birthday. It just—felt right? But this year nobody’s schedule really fit then and, even though they didn’t really believe me, I—I kind of still wanted my people with me. Y’know?”

“That’s natural,” Steve agrees, earning him a smile.

Then the smile fades, and Jerry scrubs both hands through his hair. “I kind of can’t believe it?” he admits. “Like. I don’t exactly know how to feel? At first it was all excitement. And—pride, I guess. Vindication? And I still feel all that. It’s kinda empty too, though.”

“Empty how?” Danny prompts, gently.

Jerry shakes his head. “When I say there was nobody else looking, I mean it. Susanna didn’t run away from a loving home, y’know? Her parents were gone. She lived with her uncle and, I mean, I tried to meet the guy. Tried to interview him, but he wouldn’t have it. I never knew if he abused her or if he just didn’t care, or if maybe he was sick or something. Anyway, he died a few months after she did.”

He sighs, so deeply and sadly that Steve’s heart aches a little.

“There was nobody to tell, you know?” Jerry goes on, quietly. “At the end of the day she’s still gone, and—and all of a sudden the whole justice thing just seems—abstract. And I feel selfish, wishing there was a family to return her to. But I don’t mean it selfishly. I just mean—this doesn’t change anything, y’know? She had nobody who even needed closure. I thought I was doing this for her but—but I can’t see how this helps anyone but—anyone but me—”

“Hey, hey,” Danny scolds, as Jerry’s chin buckles and his eyes go wet. “I’m not gonna bring you champagne no more, ‘f you catch the weepies after one freaking glass.”

Jerry chuckles thickly. “I had, like, two sips, man.”

“Wow. That’s genuine lightweight territory; who knew?”

The next laugh isn’t much more than an exhale, and Jerry buries his face in his hands. Steve puts his mug aside, slides forward in the seat.

“Hey, we understand. It sucks sometimes, man. The world can be a really crappy place. There’s—there’s kids without families. There’s people who kill teenage girls.”

There’s men who use their own children to trap and kill women who look like their ex-wives.

“It sucks,” he concludes, feeling kind of useless. Glad when Danny takes over, then.

“Listen. You wanna talk about how this universe is cold, and empty, and doesn’t give a shit about any of us? You wanna cry about that? Bring the whole fucking tissue box, I will cry with you. I will.”

Jerry peeks up, smiling weakly, and Danny moves a little closer. “But maybe instead look at it this way. In this whole goddamn universe, nobody would care—but you did. You— I—ugh. Steve, help me out?”

But just as Steve’s figuring out what to say, Danny continues, all the swagger and stridency gone from his voice. “So, I don’t believe in the—in any sort of afterlife. Okay? Ma hates it, but I just— don’t.”

Steve finds himself holding his breath, not sure he knows where Danny’s going with this; not even sure he knew that about the man to begin with.

“I could talk about Susanna looking down here and seeing that you brought her justice, and that makes her spirit happy, blah blah, whatever. But I don’t really buy it. But what I do believe is that— that makes life matter more. That makes humanity matter more. Susanna was a human being; she was alive; her feet touched the surface of this fucking planet. Like yours. Like mine. She was _here_. And when it would’ve been easier to just forget that, you didn’t. You fought for it. You—”

“You made the universe care,” Steve hears himself say, when Danny fumbles. “Because you’re a part _of_ the universe. If you care, it cares. By definition.”

He catches Jerry’s eyes, just for a moment; then the man turns away, takes a huge, shuddering breath. Danny pats his back.

“And buddy, listen,” Steve goes on. “Your mind’s still seeing things from her side. But take a minute to see it from yours. You did literally everything you could do, and it’s okay to be proud of that. And I am—man, I am so, so proud of you.”

In all of this Jerry’s back has stayed to them, but Steve doesn’t need to see his face; all the emotions that he’d find there, he feels in his own stomach anyway. He goes and kneels before Jerry, and hugs him firmly.

It takes a few seconds, but Jerry finally eases into it, and wraps his arms around Steve’s shoulders in return. His breath stutters unevenly against Steve’s neck. It doesn’t seem like he’s crying but he’s shaking, all over now, and Steve resolves to hold on until this lessens at least a little bit.

It doesn’t, really. But in the end it’s Jerry who pulls away first, squeezing Steve’s arm in gratitude.

“What’s up?” Steve prompts, leveraging himself onto the sofa.

“’m fine. I just can feel myself conkin’ out. I hate to be a bad host but I just really need a shower and bed. Y’know?”

“That’s not being a bad host. Hey, we’re the ones that sprung this on you anyway. I know you must be exhausted.”

“Can’t really remember the last time I slept more than a few minutes,” Jerry mumbles, in agreeance. Then frowns. “I mean, that sounds super dramatic. It was less than three days ago. But.”

“But nothing,” Steve says, and stands. Jerry and Danny do the same. “Listen, just to be clear, you put in for the whole week off, and I’m expecting you still to take it, okay? Sleep in tomorrow. Try to catch your breath. ‘f you feel like company, call me and we’ll do dinner. Okay?”

Jerry smiles weakly. “Pizza and _Trek_?”

“You know it, buddy.”

He nods, rubs trembling hands over bleary eyes. “Thanks, commander. Danny. Really.”

Danny swoops forward, wraps Jerry in a bear hug that’s as warm and open as it is comically mismatched in size. “Hey, we’re leaving the champagne. Word to the wise, if you can get it down, you’ll probably find it helps more than it hurts.”

“Right. Got it.”

“You’re the best, buddy,” Steve tells him, because it seems like Jerry really needs to hear it. “I mean that.” Danny’s finished hugging him, and Steve takes another turn because it seems like Jerry needs that too.

“Thanks, guys,” Jerry gets out, pulling away.

“Get some sleep.”

“’m gonna.”

“Call if you need me.”

“ _Steve_ ,” Jerry says, bumping Steve’s arm with his fist. “I’m fine, man. Really. Thanks for coming by.”

“I worry about you. You know.”

Steve’s not quite sure where those words came from, or how they made it out of his mouth; either way, Jerry seems to sink into them, just a little. “I appreciate that. I do.”

“Goonight, Jerry,” Steve murmurs; Danny echoes him.

“’night, guys,” Jerry says. His eyes catch Steve’s just before the door closes between them.


End file.
